


Blood and Whiskey

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [7]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Bandit Peter Nureyev, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowboy AU, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Other, Sheriff Juno Steel, Whump, cameo of my shitty knowledge of 1800's medicine, canon-typical S1 Juno's self hatred, it's miasma. you won't miss her, this has some fluff but mostly angst, this is just vaguely post-murderous mask timeline wise, vaguely end of season oneish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: “Duke Rose, at your service,” the man with the all too familiar horse and a bag filled to bursting with snake oil beamed. “It’s an honor to meet the acclaimed Sheriff Juno Steel at last. All these lawmen trying to arrest me for the last twenty minutes have had nothing but the kindest reviews.”“Let him go. He’s an old friend."
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823821
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Blood and Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flashback taken from chapter three of Juno Steel and the Bandit of Brahma, but it can be read as a standalone!
> 
> Title from Blood and Whiskey by the Mechanisms
> 
> Content warning: murder, blood, gun violence, Juno's canon-typical self hatred, blood, injury, mentions of alcohol and alcohol dependency

“Duke Rose, at your service,” the man with the all too familiar horse and a bag filled to bursting with snake oil beamed. “It’s an honor to meet the acclaimed Sheriff Juno Steel at last. All these lawmen trying to arrest me for the last twenty minutes have had nothing but the kindest reviews.” 

“Let him go. He’s an old friend,” Juno snapped, waving away a peevish crowd of deputies and so-called ‘concerned citizens’ in the hopes of a word with ‘Rose’ alone. When the street had finally cleared, he shot a pointed glare in Nureyev’s direction. “What the hell do you think you’re doing back here? If they find us out, it’s not just gonna be you going to the hangman.” 

“Relax, my dear sheriff,” Nureyev smiled, leaning back against the farrier’s shop as if it had been erected for the sole purpose of bearing his weight. “Duke Rose is a well established snake oil salesman.” 

Juno snorted. “Pretty big fall from gentleman bandit.” 

“Only when I have to, darling. Rose’s only crime is selling water in fancy little bottles and calling it a love potion,” Nureyev chuckled. “Care to try one for yourself?” 

“Don’t think I need one. Your last letter was enough,” Juno finally managed to grin. 

Peter made to stand up, but paused and raised an eyebrow when Juno offered him an arm. 

“Quite the display of chivalry.”

“What can I say? I learned from the best,” Juno smiled, crooked from a long scar that he had still yet to stop hating. Peter gazed at him like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

Nureyev took his arm in order to stand, then replaced his bag where it had been resting atop his mare’s back. 

“Still on Ruby, then? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Juno asked. 

“Brock Engstrom isn’t here, Juno. He’s busy trying to explain to his investors how I robbed his unrobbable train,” Nureyev mused. 

“Why don’t we keep things like that off the record?” 

“My love, I thought we were off the record,” Nureyev smiled, impossibly sharp and impossibly soft all in one moment. 

They had strolled far enough from Main Street and close enough to the desert that Juno felt comfortable taking him by the hand. The afternoon sun hung high in the giant, endless sky, every big and blue and beautiful inch of it alight. 

It was the second prettiest thing in the whole desert, in Juno’s opinion. His eyes had spent so long lingering on the curve of Nureyev’s cheek that he barely had time to notice that the sky bore not a single cloud. 

“Letters don’t compare to your company, Juno,” Nureyev murmured. They were close now, to a point of near-discomfort in the burning heat. The sun, however, was the last thing on Juno’s mind when Nureyev kissed him. He didn’t spare a thought for anything but those silk-soft lips and just how gentle they were against his own when they both had the time to appreciate one another. 

Their last meeting had been rushed, Juno clinging to every second of Peter Nureyev he could while helping Nureyev to escape an unjust hanging. 

He had prayed for a quiet moment like this for weeks, sated only by the occasional letter in which he could barely manage to put his feelings into words. He was so sure of the quantity of those feelings, but never the specifics. 

Sometimes the letters would be signed by names Juno had never heard before. Other times, just a cherry red lipstick kiss. More often than not, they were not signed at all. Juno always knew the sender. 

Thoughts that were not so soft wormed their way into his mind when the kiss broke, refusing to be repressed. It was difficult, of course, to be a sheriff carrying on a secret romance with the thief he had set free. Writing was so much easier. 

The more awful train of thought was one that had clawed in by force and refused to leave, sitting at the back of his mind at all hours and writhing with horrid laughter as his stomach churned at its words. He was a sheriff, and Nureyev was a thief. At the end of the day, it couldn’t ever work, or at least never in the way they described in their letters. Juno couldn’t hide it forever, and at the end of the day, he’d have to choose between protecting his city and his own happiness, sacrificing Nureyev’s in the process. 

A part of Juno already knew that he’d pick Hyperion in a heartbeat. He kissed Nureyev again in the hopes that the thoughts might fade, though he found his hopes unfounded. 

“So,” he started after a long moment. “What brings you back to Hyperion?”

“You, Juno.”

“I’ve told you, I can’t leave,” Juno sighed. “I don’t trust this new mayor as far as I can throw him—“

Nureyev shook his head. 

“I just wanted to be with you. At least just for a little while.” 

“That’s awfully sweet and all, but we both know you’re risking your neck to be here. There’s something going on, isn’t there?” Juno thought aloud, a knowing smile crossing his face. “You’re bad at admitting you need help, Nureyev.” 

“It seems you have me in a corner again,” Nureyev chuckled, the sound soft and sweet like wedding bells. Juno thought it was a pity it ever had to end. 

“So what’s the deal? Need somewhere to hide while Engstrom does his best to skin you?” 

“I think I might have an excuse for you to run away with me,” Nureyev began, breaking off Juno’s protest as he continued. “For a day or two.” 

Juno couldn’t help a tentative smile. 

“I think I can make a day or two work,” he said, a soft warmth growing in his chest as Nureyev positively beamed. “What’s the job?” 

“A certain businesswoman named Miasma is planning to destroy on that stretch of land,” Nureyev began, gesturing to a rock formation in the distance. “There’s a pre-existing cave she intends to use when setting off dynamite to clear that mountain. She’s planning to sell it to a railway company.” 

“Let me guess: she doesn’t own the land?” 

“Precisely.” 

“And what makes you so interested in preventing destruction of property? Usually you don’t seem too concerned with that kind of thing,” Juno said. 

“I’m not. I have ample evidence to suggest the quantity of those explosives will be enough to utterly destroy the lives or livelihoods of those who make their homes nearby,” Peter began. Juno gave him a questioning look before he continued. “And she’s planning to sell it to Brock Engstrom.” 

“There it is.” 

“Plenty of good people die laying those tracks,” Nureyev returned. “So?”

“Good enough reason as any to get me out of this damn city for a day,” Juno said, unable to help but smile at how stupidly happy that seemed to make Nureyev. 

“Go make your arrangements. I’ll be with Ruby,” he said in a tone that might have suggested they were getting married instead of whatever Nureyev had planned. 

“This is a serious mission, dammit,” Juno tried to say without breaking a smile. His efforts were decimated when Nureyev pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“A serious mission I get to spend with you, my love.” 

Juno’s memory tended to be too detail-oriented for his own damn good. He hadn’t forgotten what his brother’s blood smelled like after almost two decades, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten the taste of gunpowder in the air that hadn’t seemed to leave his mouth even when Ben was long buried. 

For once, his memory had left behind most of their mission. Juno could remember an outline. As far as a textbook definition, it went well. When Miasma fired a pair of rapid shots in their direction, a shootout had commenced. None of the explosives had gone off, and the only casualty was Miasma herself. 

Juno mostly remembered that from being informed later. 

On the other hand, he could remember, clear as day, just how heavy Nureyev was when he was limp and bleeding. Juno stopped covering Nureyev for only a few seconds to stand and try to shoot down Miasma for himself. Even if he was hurt or killed in the process, Miasma would likely be struck down and Nureyev might leave entirely unscathed. 

He had miscalculated gravely. If he was scrambling for a silver lining, at least Miasma had miscalculated as well. Assuming she was a faster draw, she had fired at Nureyev, hoping to distract Juno long enough to kill him too. 

Miasma was quick. Juno was quicker. 

Miasma fell dead, a hole right between the eyes. Juno couldn’t care less. 

The moment he saw that his bullet had shot straight, he sank to his knees, Nureyev’s scream whirring in his ears and making his stomach churn. His hands, once unflappably steady, were now throwing Nureyev’s jacket and vest and shirt open as fast as they could in search of the bullet wound. 

Peter was saying something, but Juno couldn’t hear over the static in his own head. When his trembling fingers caught on the buttons of Nureyev’s shirt, he ripped it open by hand. He would pay for another one later, he told himself, insisting that Nureyev would live. He had to live.

Juno hadn’t realized how ragged his own breathing was until Nureyev was squeezing his hand. 

“Darling,” Nureyev panted, white-knuckled against Juno’s hand. “I can feel it. I think that’s a good sign. Not as damaged as it could be.” 

“You were shot, that’s not good whether you can feel it or not,” Juno choked. Nureyev’s hand, red with his own blood, reached up for his face. Juno swallowed thickly as he felt one of those clever fingers wipe away his tear, only to smear something else in its place. 

“I think she—“ Nureyev broke off, the movement of his arm back to his side causing sudden agony. His cry of pain wrenched every part of Juno, who felt in his body’s response to this panic that he might be able to bend iron by hand. 

Bending iron wouldn’t save Nureyev’s life. 

Instead, Juno finished ripping open his shirt, wincing at the sight of the bloodied wound. He couldn’t tell if it was a graze or something far, far worse. 

“I think I’m going to have to touch it to see if the bullet’s out,” Juno grimaced. Nureyev gave a frantic nod in response. 

“Get me something to bite down on,” he gasped. “You don’t need to hear any more of this.” 

Juno folded up the sleeve of Nureyev’s jacket and passed it his way, swallowing down fear and guilt and bile as he turned back to Peter’s heaving torso and ran a pair of fingers along the wound. His free hand closed around Nureyev’s and squeezed. With the stench of blood in his nose and Nureyev’s muffled scream in his ears and nothing but Ben in his mind, it was hard to focus on anything. One thing, however, became clear. 

“Just a graze,” Juno confirmed. “A bad one, but a graze. Bullet didn’t lodge in there.”

Juno’s back hit the ground beside Peter in relief, a disbelieving laugh rising from his chest as he did so. Nureyev brought Juno’s bloody hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles. His lips, still soft as ever, missed their usual spot. Juno didn’t particularly care. 

“Always the gentleman,” Juno smiled weakly. 

“Always for my lady, Juno,” Peter returned, though his voice was half a groan. “As much as this gentleman would love to continue wooing his beloved, I believe he would do well to seek a medical professional.” 

Juno snorted. After a long moment, he forced himself to stand on trembling legs as he picked Nureyev up bridal-style. A knot in his stomach tightened at the thought of marriage and what the future might bring for them, but he did his best to push it aside. The present needed to be his concern. 

“Never change,” he murmured, half to himself. “Never, ever change.” 

Hyperion’s doctor couldn’t do much more than stitch the wound and give ‘Duke Rose’ a few painkillers that left him mostly asleep for two entire days. Juno only left the hotel room to bring back necessities and any small comforts he could manage. 

When he asked what Nureyev wanted, the response was almost always the same. 

“You, Juno.” 

Even delirious, Peter had a way of making Juno’s heart ache like no one had before. As such, Juno spent as little time away from the room as possible. 

Nureyev kept making excuses to stay a bit longer, though when he no longer needed the bandages for his side, his need to stay bedridden with Juno in his arms for just a few minutes longer felt like more and more of a lie. Juno wouldn’t have minded if fate had dealt him a kinder hand, but it seemed even in life, he was a shitty gambler. 

It was after an evening Juno couldn’t forget if he tried that the decision became clear in his mind. Their activities had managed to, as far as he knew, knock Nureyev out entirely. The last of the pain medications left in his system certainly weren’t helping with his alertness. Juno just wished he didn’t have to look so peaceful in his sleep. 

Nureyev might have lived this time. He might have even made a full recovery. However, Juno knew exactly how it would all end, with more blood on his hands, a new nightmare to add to the mix, and a whole new chorus of demons to try and drink off. 

When people got close to him, they got hurt. When people made the mistake of trusting him, they got killed. Nureyev had made that mistake far too long ago. 

Juno thought about leaving a note, but he was never as good with words as he wanted to be. 

Instead, he rolled out of bed. He got dressed. He wished he hadn’t heard his own name, murmured through the dark like some kind of awful prayer. 

If fate had been a little kinder, he might have shut the door a moment sooner, and Nureyev’s voice wouldn’t have spent the next year ringing through his head. 

But fate had never liked Juno Steel.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. Sorry. If you want to see these two get a happy ending, check out the rest of Juno Steel and the Bandit of Brahma!! 
> 
> As a note, I'd like to mention that Juno doesn't lose his eye here because the timeline in the rest of the fic sees him lose it significantly later. It's an important part of his character that I don't want to lose. It just doesn't happen at this point in the story.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! Smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> To yell at me for this, message me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric !!


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